


Missing: Several Pairs of Boxer Briefs and Derek Hale's Dignity

by ussdawntreader



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Familiars, M/M, Magic, Magic!Stiles, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Tattooed Stiles, Tattoos, Underwear Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ussdawntreader/pseuds/ussdawntreader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filling <a href="http://tnw-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/4905.html?thread=997673#t997673">this</a> prompt for the tnw-kinkmeme:</p><p>Just saw this on a prompt list- “My cat steals underwear and I come home to find you chasing my cat to get your underwear back.” and I'm laughing my ass off because my cat does this.<br/>I need a fic like this pleeeeaaaase.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing: Several Pairs of Boxer Briefs and Derek Hale's Dignity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hufflepuffia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflepuffia/gifts).



> [hufflepuffia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflepuffia), today is your birthday, probably the most magical day of the year. I'm sorry I won't be with you to celebrate (again), but I took some of your favourite things and I made a fic out of them. I miss you and I hope you're having an amazing day! ♥

_Friday_

The shop is hitting that four o’clock lull and Stiles should be starting to close, but instead he makes himself a rooibos latte and a sandwich. Of course, just as he’s about to chow down, a customer walks in.

“You’re late,” Stiles says, hiding his grin behind the comically large sandwich. 

Derek’s a regular, who comes in around three, demands a coffee black, chugs it down in front of Stiles and then orders a refill. It’s a good system because Stiles gets a nice view of the long expanse of Derek’s throat swallowing and imagines him swallowing down something else entirely.

“Coffee. Black,” Derek says gruffly, but Stiles has already started pouring it for him. Derek leaves a ten on the counter and says, “Keep the change,” like he does every day.

Stiles puts the ten in the register and adds the change to the mostly empty tip jar, just as Derek is finishing his first round. As Stiles pours the refill, Derek says quietly, “I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“You mean the sandwich?” Stiles says over his shoulder. “It’s fine. There’s never anyone around so I’m bored-eating. It’s like stress-eating but less justifiable.”

Derek is looking slightly more alert and actually continues the conversation for once. “So you’re trying to see how large of a sandwich you can fit in your mouth?”

“Well,” Stiles says drawing out the word, as he puts the newly full cup in front of Derek. “I already know I can fit a lot…but practice makes perfect.” And he has to wink at Derek’s shocked face.

Derek quickly takes a swig of his coffee and Stiles smirks. He shouldn’t scare off customers, especially regulars, so he switches to a safer topic. “You working today?”

When Derek comes up for air, he says, “No, I took the day off because I got a new place. It’s just around the corner.”

“Really? Because I live just around the corner,” Stiles says. He leans on his elbows over the counter, trying not to be too obvious in his dreamy staring.

“West Crescent?” Derek asked, looking like he can’t believe his bad luck. It would put Stiles off but that’s pretty much Derek’s default expression, and he’s pretty anyway.

“Nah, I’m dark side, in East Crescent.” The apartment buildings are separated by a small courtyard but the West Crescent is newer and way more upscale. Stiles looks over Derek, who is wearing a worn Henley that clings to ... everything. It’s a thing of beauty, actually.

“Are you going to have a housewarming party?” Stiles asks, while Derek shuffles like he wants to escape.

Derek freezes suddenly. “I um, hadn’t thought about it, actually. Probably not. I don’t –” and he cuts himself off.

Stiles pauses for a second, in case Derek wants to finish his thought. He doesn’t. “Well, if you do have one, let me know. You know where to find me,” Stiles says, gesturing vaguely around.

Derek nods and heads out, tossing his empty cup in the recycling.

“Good talk!” Stiles calls, his mouth already full of sandwich.

+

_Tuesday_

Derek doesn’t need to check the caller ID to know it’s Laura. Mostly because she programmed her personal ringtone to _Barracuda_ , but also because she’s the only one who ever actually calls him.

“Hey, lil bro,” she says, “all moved in?”

“Yeah.” Derek reclines back onto the bed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “’m fine.” He hears a loud meow next to his head. An extremely fluffy cat jumps through the open window and drops lightly onto the pillow.

Laura laughs loudly. “Wow, Derek, I was just kidding about becoming a crazy cat lady. You weren’t supposed to actually get a cat.”

Derek strokes through the cat’s fluff and it leans into his touch. “Mrrrow?” it says.

“He’s not mine,” Derek says defensively, “he just visits me sometimes.” The cat butts Derek’s hand with his head, imploring him for more scratches. Derek obeys.

“He probably knows what a lonely soul you are,” Laura says. Derek misses her, even her gentle teasing, but he doesn’t regret leaving New York and moving back to Beacon Hills. It is lonely without her, though.

He makes a noncommittal sound of agreement, devoting his attention to the cat’s chin.

“You know what would make you not lonely, though?” Laura asks, although Derek knows she’s going to answer her own question. “Hitting that cute delivery girl you won’t stop talking about.”

Laura thinks she knows who Derek’s crush is, even from clear across the country. Derek hasn’t even mentioned anyone, but Laura knows him too well.

“There’s no delivery girl,” Derek says, scratching behind the cat’s ears, and trying not to think about Stiles’ long fingers and gorgeous everything. “And no-one says ‘hitting that’ anymore.”

“But there is someone?” Laura sounds smug, like she found a loophole in his logic.

“No,” Derek says quietly. “There isn’t.”

She’s quiet and for a second Derek thinks he’s disappointed her. Then, she says, “Liar! Who is it? The boy next door? Give me a hint!” Laura has exceptionally good hearing and he’d be impressed she can listen to his heartbeat _through the phone_ if she didn’t use this power for evil.

The cat stands up suddenly, darting away into the living room. “There isn’t anyone,” Derek says, following it. He goes to the kitchen and grabs the bag of cat treats he picked up after Fluffy’s first visit last Friday. He pours a few on the counter and it hops up, nibbling delicately.

“Sorry,” Laura says, backing off. “I know I shouldn’t push, but I just get worried, you know? You’re so far away and you’re so…”

“I know,” Derek says interrupting that sentence. Fluffy sniffs around for more treats and then runs back into the bedroom. “I miss you too.”

“I just want to know that you’re not isolating yourself,” she continues. “Actually making connections and not pining for someone who has no idea how you feel.”

 _Too late_ , Derek thinks. _Way too late_. But he says, “I’m not. I’m good. I promise.”

“Uh huh,” Laura says, and she doesn’t have to listen his heartbeat to know that’s a lie. “Don’t forget I’m coming for Thanksgiving, so get your life together please.”

“Sure,” Derek says vaguely.

Laura sighs, “Love you, lil bro.”

“Love you too.” He waits for her to hang up. He walks back to his room to check on the cat and finds it pawing through his hamper. It seems like it’s looking for something for a second, and then it picks up a pair of Derek’s underwear and jumps out the window.

Derek snarls after it out of reflex. The cat has been visiting him almost every day since he moved in. Has it been stealing his underwear this whole time? Derek hopes its owner isn’t offended by loudly patterned boxer briefs (a gag gift from Laura that he literally gagged at).

He immediately resolves not to give Fluffy any more treats, but he knows he’s just fooling himself.

+

_Thursday_

When Stiles finally boots out some stragglers and closes up the shop, he entertains the idea of hiring a college student or two to do his bidding while he focuses on his magic.

When his mentor left him the coffee shop, she told him, “Coffee is its own kind of magic,” but he didn’t think she meant it had a way of sucking him into a routine of opening and closing and baking and brewing and forgetting that he used to spell things for the _government_.

Well, once. But it was still a big deal.

Stiles walks home on autopilot. He works, he goes home to his familiar, tries unsuccessfully to create new spells (sometimes), and falls asleep. Rinse and repeat. When did he become so boring?

When he lets himself into his apartment, Raggy is waiting near the door. “Hey buddy!” he says. “How was your day?”

Raggy is the physical manifestation of Stiles’ own power in the form of a cat. It’s also an asshole. Raggy just meows innocently at him, rubbing against Stiles’ legs.

“Oh god,” Stiles says, “What did you do now?” They can’t communicate explicitly. But Stiles can usually figure out Raggy’s moods or meows pretty easily. And this one definitely means _I was bad_.

Raggy bounds into Stiles’ bedroom. With a sense of foreboding that comes with experience, Stiles follows it. It would be great if Raggy was a normal cat and the worst thing it could do was throw up or have diarrhea on the bed or something.

Stiles peeks into the bedroom first, just in case Raggy has summoned a demon. It hasn’t happened yet, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful. Raggy is circling a pile of laundry on the bed, purring proudly.

“You did laundry?” Stiles says, laughing a little. When he steps further into the room, he realizes what he thought was laundry is actually a few pairs of underwear. Underwear that is definitely not his.

Stiles is strictly a boxers man, he likes his underwear loose and easily discardable. This … _collection_ Raggy has amassed are boxer briefs, ranging in colours and patterns. They all look silky and expensive though.

“What did you do?” Stiles asks Raggy sternly. It looks up at him, brown eyes innocent. “You know you’re an asshole, right?” Raggy meows.

Stiles’ days at the coffee shop involve so little magic that even creating seven different spells to find out the underwear owners’ locations wouldn’t totally drain him. That’s if they are all from different people. When Stiles asks Raggy, it just looks at him, unreadable. 

Stiles picks up the first pair of underwear (lurid red Calvin Klein’s, who is this guy?) and summons his magic, kind of asking it where it came from. A vision pops into his head, a dark haired, bearded man lying on a bed reading. He feels nearby. Stiles concentrates a little more and sends the underwear back to the guy, to wherever he keeps his laundry.

One down, six to go. Stiles picks up the next pair (black silk Armani, _damn_ ) and tries again. The vision is of the same reading guy, pushing his glasses up his nose. Stiles sends them back.

The next four pairs all belong to the same man, which begs the question of why Raggy is stealing personal items from someone and making Stiles’ life so difficult. With a sigh, Stiles reaches for the last pair (pastel pink, wow). He casts the locating spell first, _just in case_ and not at all to creep a bit more on the Hottie McBeardy. The guy is still reading, but this time, like he senses something, he looks up and Stiles realizes that _holy shit he knows that guy_. It’s Derek, 2 Cups of Brewed Black Coffee Derek and he wears pink briefs.

Stiles ends the location spell and sends the briefs in question back quickly, feeling drained. He’s out of practice and slightly out breath from perving on his favourite customer.

“Mrrrow!” Raggy says, standing on its two back feet and putting a paw on Stiles’ calf. Raggy is even more of an asshole than Stiles suspected. “Ragnorok,” Stiles says sternly, using its full name, “leave him alone.”

Raggy drops down on all fours and skitters away, wrecking havoc on its water bowl probably. Stiles could buy him a climbing thing for cats. Maybe then it would be too preoccupied to create duplicates of itself (a thing that happened) or to piss off Stiles’ customers by stealing their underwear.

He could also probably spell Raggy to make it follow his every order, but he feels a little weird about totally controlling it. Even if it’s just a manifestation of his own magic.

Stiles sprawls on his bed, throwing an arm over his face. He can’t even control his own familiar, what is he even doing with his life? He’s close to falling asleep when Raggy jumps up on the bed and drops something on his chest.

Muzzily, Stiles picks up Raggy’s present, struggling to open his eyes to focus on it. It’s a pair of boxer briefs with a pink heart pattern. “Goddamn it, Raggy,” Stiles says. He pushes the cat off the bed in retaliation, but it just jumps back up and snuggles into his side.

Stiles falls asleep at 9 pm that night, having used more magic in one night than he’s used in months. 

+

_Friday_

Something weird is going on.

Yesterday, Derek felt like someone was watching him in his own home and when he went to get a snack, seven pairs of his underwear were in the fridge.

And today at coffee shop, Stiles barely made eye contact or small talk with him, making Derek’s drinks quickly, like he couldn’t get rid of him fast enough. Derek had wondered at the dark circles under Stiles’ eyes, but couldn’t bring himself to ask about them.

He’d gone back to work, and his boss demanded a report before he went home, so he’d stayed late, finishing it up. It’s not like he had somewhere to be, anyway. 

It’s 9:30 by the time Derek gets home. He hops into the shower first, rinsing away the stresses of the day. His thoughts stray to Stiles and Derek wonders why he’d looked so tired. Did something keep him up late? Or someone?

And that thought _hurts_. They’ve never talked about boyfriends or partners and Derek wonders who takes care of Stiles. He indulges in a daydream that it’s him, that he’s the one to rub Stiles’ back and kiss away his worries.

He has to turn the water to freezing for a minute, before he turns off the shower. Derek dries himself briskly and wraps a towel around his waist. As he steps into the bedroom, he sees Fluffy, standing in the middle of his bed with a pair of his underwear in his mouth _again_. His favourites, the soft red Calvin Klein’s.

Derek snarls, fangs dropping, and Fluffy tries to flee. Derek chases it, grabbing wildly as it jumps from shelf to dresser to shelf. When it makes a break for the window, he catches it midair.

“Gotcha,” Derek says, bringing it around to stare into its amber eyes. There’s a brief sensation of vertigo, of falling through space, and when Derek blinks, he’s in a totally different bedroom.

“Raggy?” someone is calling. The cat struggles free of Derek’s grip and meows loudly, muffled by the fabric still in its mouth.

The owner opens the door and sees Raggy and the underwear. “Not again,” Stiles says. Of course it’s Stiles, because Derek’s life isn’t terrible enough apparently. “I told you to leave him a—” He stops abruptly, when he catches sight of Derek.

Derek, who just realized that he is barely dressed. Wait, scratch that, he lost the towel in the chase. He flushes with embarrassment. Why does weird shit always have to happen to him? Now Stiles thinks he’s a total pervert or something.

“Uh, hi,” Derek says, awkwardly.

“Hi,” Stiles says, and proceeds to openly _check_ _Derek_ _out_.  “Wow, are you ever underdressed.” He ducks down to pluck the briefs from Raggy’s mouth. “You could put these on,” he says, holding them out, “or you could just keep them off.”

Derek is unable to compute. He can’t say anything to that. He can’t say anything at all, especially since Stiles is stepping so close, sliding his other hand up Derek’s chest.

“You okay, big guy?” Stiles asks, eyes wide and concerned and he looks so beautiful that Derek has to close his eyes. This isn’t real, it can’t be real, but when he opens them and looks around, he’s still there. _In Stiles’ bedroom_.

“Is your cat magic?” Derek finally manages. He immediately regrets it. Stiles’ hand falls away and Derek already misses the contact.

“More like a huge asshole,” Stiles says, turning to glare at it. The cat just licks its paw, totally disinterested.

“Is it?” Derek asks again. He’s heard of these kinds of things, of people and things that aren’t wolves but not human, but he hasn’t really had experience with them.

Stiles snorts. “Basically? But he’s magic because he’s _my_ magic, in the form of an asshole cat.”

“Fluffy’s all right,” Derek says, forgetting that he’s pissed off at it too and coming to the cat’s defense.

“You named it _Fluffy_?” Stiles asks, his mouth falling open in shock. “Dude, that is legit the worst cat name in history, just behind Mrs. Pickles.”

“He’s really…fluffy,” Derek says. The cat winds its way through their legs, purring contentedly, and they both look down at it and then back up at each other.

“Listen,” Stiles says, and he’s still not touching Derek, “if you’re trying to distract me from the fact that you’re very, very naked right now, you’re not doing a very good job.”

That would usually be the time in a conversation that Derek would get to say something, but Stiles just keeps talking. “I mean, I have been thinking about this for _months_. The suits are hot, like make-a-dragon-want-to-retire-hot, but this—you—just – ”

It’s Derek’s turn to interrupt, and he presses his mouth to Stiles’. Some teeth get in the way, but then Stiles figures it out and wraps his arms around Derek and then it’s _perfect_.

Derek kisses him like he’s never kissed anyone, with all his longing and _want_ and it feels like Stiles is kissing him the same way. When it finally feels like he needs air, he pulls back a bit, keeping his forehead pressed against Stiles’.

“You’re not underdressed,” Stiles says, rough and out of breath, “I’m overdressed, if anything.” And he steps back to pull off his shirt. Derek’s immediately caught by _the tattoos_ , all over Stiles’ leanly muscled arms and torso, bold and thick-lined and possibly moving.

“Um,” Derek says, a little faintly, because he honestly didn’t think it was possible for Stiles to get _more attractive_. “Wow.”

And Stiles grins, sharp and predatory, stepping closer to Derek again. “Like what you see?”

“Yeah, it’s not bad.” Derek pulls Stiles flush against him, leaning forward for another kiss. “I could stand to see a little more,” he continues when he pulls back. Stiles’ lips are pink and swollen, he looks beautiful like this and Derek doesn’t want this moment to end ever.

Stiles nods, looking a little dazed. “Yeah,” he says incoherently, “fuck – yeah, let me just…” and he strips off his pants and boxers and he’s _finally_ as naked as Derek. The tattoos dip below his hips. Derek can’t resist pressing his mouth against one, tasting Stiles’ skin and nibbling gently.

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles gasps. He sucks a mark onto Derek’s neck and it disappears almost immediately. “Mmmm, werewolf healing,” he says.

Startled, Derek looks up. “Wait, what?” he says. “How’d you know…?”

“Magic, remember?” Stiles says smugly. It’s easy to see where Fluffy gets his asshole tendencies from. Derek just rolls his eyes and rubs his beard against Stiles’ pale skin. It flushes beautifully and Derek wants to do it again and again forever.

Instead, he drops to his knees and licks a strip up his hand before taking hold of Stiles’ dick at the base. He lightly strokes it, listening to Stiles’ refrain of soft sighs and moans.

And then he puts Stiles’ dick in his mouth and Stiles’ hips thrust in an aborted movement. “Shit, Derek,” Stiles says, “your _mouth_.” It’s been a long time since Derek has done this, been with a man, been with anyone, but he knows what he likes and he tries it on Stiles.

He sinks forward as far he can, slow and deliberate, relishing every sound that Stiles makes. He hollows his cheeks, creating suction as he rocks forward and back, stroking his hand up to meet his mouth. 

“Jesus, Derek, do you even know how many times I thought about you like this?” Stiles says, “You’re so fucking amazing.” He gasps as Derek tries deepthroating him, burying his nose in Stiles’ groin.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Stiles says, stepping back suddenly. Derek can’t help the disappointed sound he makes. “Sorry, this is going to be over embarrassingly fast if you keep doing that.”

Derek looks up at him. “Stiles,” he says, voice rough and he sounds fucking _used_ , “we’ve got all night.”

Stiles blinks at him for a minute before that sinks in. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah.” He steps forward again.

Derek smirks at him, before trying again, taking Stiles’ dick deep into his mouth and pulling off. He’s messy, like he likes it himself and he doesn’t think Stiles has any complaints. He wants to keep going, but his jaw is already twinging, so he brings his hand up again.

He keeps up a steady rhythm and it’s not long before Stiles says urgently, “Derek, I’m gonna—”

He comes and Derek swallows it all. Stiles pulls him up and over to the bed, straddling Derek’s torso. “That,” Stiles pronounces, “was fucking amazing.” He leans down to kiss him thoroughly, and Derek knows Stiles can taste himself, but he doesn’t seem to care and that is so goddamn hot.

Stiles kisses Derek’s mouth, jawline, throat, kisses his way down Derek’s chest, runs his tongue along Derek’s treasure trail. By the time he reaches Derek’s dick, it’s painfully hard and lying flush against his belly. Stiles licks a teasing stripe up the underside and Derek shudders.

After about thirty seconds of Stiles’ mouth on his body, Derek realises that Stiles wasn’t kidding. He really _is_ magic (or his mouth is, anyway). Derek’s hands fist the sheets, Stiles’ hair, anywhere he can, but he can’t get a grip, it’s like Stiles is sucking his sense of reality out through his dick.

Derek tries to keep it together, tries to hold out as long as he can, but he’s pretty sure he comes way too quickly. Stiles doesn’t say anything for once, just collapses next to Derek. When he catches his breath and musters the courage, Derek rolls on his side and opens his eyes. 

Stiles is staring at him, grinning. “We should do that again sometime,” Stiles says, casually, “like within the next few hours and for the rest of our lives.”

It’s not till then, just then, that Derek realises that this guy, with his coffee shop and asshole cat and tattoos and magical mouth, this guy actually likes him. Derek doesn’t know what to say, so he presses a kiss onto his favourite tattoo (so far anyway), the geometrical design that could be a wolf.

Stiles snakes his hand around Derek’s and they fall asleep hand in hand. When its sure they’re asleep, Raggy jumps on the bed, curls up between them and goes to sleep too.

+

_Thanksgiving_

Stiles is nervous about meeting Laura in person, even though they’ve met on Skype a few times, and she’s already threatened him with bodily harm if he hurts Derek in anyway (he overheard while he was in the bathroom). Stiles still isn’t sure she’ll approve, or something, which Derek tells him is ridiculous.

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek says, on the drive to the airport, “she’ll love you.”

“How do you know?” Stiles counters, fingers drumming a nervous beat on his thigh.

Derek reaches over to hold his hand. “Because _I_ love you,” Derek says, honestly but accidentally. It’s a bit too early for I-love-yous, and the tips of Derek's ears flush bright red.

“Good,” Stiles says, pressing kisses all over Derek’s hand, “because I love you too.”

They’re still hand in hand as they wait for Laura in Arrivals. Derek didn’t think he’d do it, get his life together before Laura’s visit, but when he holds Stiles’ hand, Beacon Hills finally feels like home.


End file.
